Southern Border

Li Fuchan's Storage Bag held only as much as two or three tabletops. Hua Hong had given it to him back in the Flying Earthworm's cave.

Putting Awaiting Light inside nearly filled it to bursting.

He simply hung the Enchanted Sword at his waist instead. With a leather belt cinching his waist and his broad sleeves bound tight, he looked rather like a brisk, capable swordsman.

Eastwood Market Ward was a business established by the Yang Family.

Now that the Yang Family had set its heart on getting involved in the northward return of Southern Chu's surviving imperial descendants, the Ning Family had been dragged aboard as well.

Li Fuchan still could not make out what they intended to do. Afraid of being caught in the whirlpool again, he decided to keep well away.

He left Gu Liuru a farewell letter and departed the Market Ward early.

There's no peace to be found anywhere in the world today. Mu Suli is heading north, and the Buddhist Land lies in the west. My visit to the Sixfold Truth Monastery can wait.

After what had happened with the Ning Family, Li Fuchan's obsession with uncovering his fatal tribulation had faded considerably. In a world like this, one wrong step meant death—how could he possibly avoid it all? Only by cultivating himself and increasing his cultivation could he better protect himself and wear away his Tribulation Qi faster.

He soon thought of somewhere to go.

The Southern Border.

He had thought it through clearly.

The Southern Border is a region where demons gather. Stray demons and Evil Spirits often roam its outskirts, making perfect targets for honing my Thunder Arts. Besides, Immortal Sects and Aristocratic Clans guard the Southern Border, and the fighting never stops. The spiritual currents throughout the region are churned into chaos—just the place for me to hide.

Most importantly, in the Southern Border, he could never run into Mu Suli on his journey north. Once the Great Compassionate Venerable Wisdom King returned to his rightful place in two or three years, there would still be time to come back.

If the opportunity arises then, I might even investigate what Jia Hua and the others are plotting. There may be something to gain.

With nothing tying him down, he set out as soon as the thought occurred.

He still had twenty-odd Spirit Stones on him. Finding another Market Ward, he sold off all his useless odds and ends, bringing his total to fifty-six Spirit Stones.

It was not a great fortune, but it was enough to cover his own cultivation expenses.

He traveled in fits and starts, cultivating as he went.

On this day, he finally entered the Southern Border.

The Southern Border was mountainous, its forests deep and its undergrowth dense. Hot, humid mist lingered year-round, shrouding the mountains like a steamer basket.

As Li Fuchan reached a mountain hollow, he suddenly heard faint wailing ahead, mingled with strange bursts of giggling.

He suppressed his aura and approached, parting the thick bushes to look ahead.

A crooked thatched hut stood in a clearing within the hollow. Seven or eight villagers had gathered outside it—men and women, old and young—but every one of them was deathly pale and trembling uncontrollably.

Two Monsters stood before them.

One was tall and thin, blue-black all over, with arms reaching past its knees and hooked claws for fingers. A long, forked tongue flicked from its mouth as it crouched atop the stone mill outside the hut, studying the villagers with its head tilted.

It also held a white flower in one hand. The flower swayed gently, as though begging for mercy; it appeared to be a captured plant spirit.

The other monster was squat and bloated, covered in scabby skin, with pustules of every size bulging across its back.

The squat Monster extended a thick, stubby finger and pointed at the crowd, then turned to complain to its companion. "This batch is far worse than the last. They're all skin and bones. Forget marrow—you'd be lucky to squeeze even a couple of ounces of grease out of them."

The blue-black Monster atop the mill flicked its long tongue and sneered. "Do you think we're still on Filth Mountain? The people there are raised plump and tender. One bite fills your mouth with dripping fat. For a little household here in the Southern Border, scraping together seven or eight whole, living people is already pretty good."

The squat Monster snorted. Its gaze swept back and forth over the crowd before it suddenly pointed a claw at a half-grown boy. It was about to speak when the blue-black Monster waved its long fingers and brushed the claw aside.

"What's the hurry?" the blue-black Monster drawled. "I haven't chosen yet."

It extended a long finger toward one of the villagers. The person it pointed at involuntarily stepped forward, as though invisible threads had caught hold of his limbs.

His face contorted, terror filling his eyes, yet no sound escaped his mouth. He could only walk stiffly up to the Monster and drop to his knees with a thud.

The squat Monster muttered resentfully, "You get the first bite every time. You get first taste of every fine skin, while I'm left gnawing scraps."

Ignoring it, the blue-black Monster tilted its head to examine the man kneeling before it, then extended its long tongue and lightly licked his face.

The man shook violently. The flesh of his face began to trickle down like melting wax, exposing the crimson tissue beneath.

He tried to scream, but only a string of muffled gurgles squeezed out of his throat.

The squat Monster watched with delight, slapping its belly and roaring with laughter, its pustules quivering wildly.

A few drops of slime splashed onto a nearby villager. The man immediately let out a piercing scream as the flesh where they struck curled back, exposing bone.

The blue-black Monster withdrew its tongue and frowned in displeasure. "Laugh all you like, but keep that pus to yourself. You're splashing it everywhere and ruining the flavor."

"Ruining the flavor?" The squat Monster could not have cared less. It licked the corner of its mouth. "You eat tender skin, I eat rotten flesh. I'm not picky."

The blue-black Monster clicked its tongue and drawled, "Human skins are still just as easy to break."

It withdrew its long finger and swept an indifferent gaze over the remaining villagers. "Bring me another."

Hidden among the bushes, Li Fuchan took in the entire scene.

This was not the first time he had witnessed something like it.

Immortal Sects and Aristocratic Clans were stationed in the Southern Border, but some of the smaller households often colluded with Monsters, paying them in living flesh in exchange for leaving their domains undisturbed.

The Immortal Sects focused almost all their attention on the battlefields against Evil Spirits. They would not concern themselves with these small demons and creatures that wandered out. How could a few lives compare with the security of the Southern Border's defensive line? Especially when these were merely two Aperture Opening monsters.

He did not rush to act. First, he carefully examined the surroundings. Only after confirming that no other demonic aura lurked nearby did he slowly rise.

Taking Awaiting Light from his waist, he set the Thunder Escape Sword Art in motion.

Before the sword left its sheath, lightning flashed.

The squat Monster was about to drag over another villager when it felt something strange at its neck.

Instinctively, it reached up to touch it, only to find a scorching line.

It froze for a moment, then looked down, but the ground kept drawing closer to its eyes.

Its scab-covered head had already rolled off its neck.

The blue-black Monster's pupils contracted sharply. Its long tongue snapped back into its mouth, and it shouted, "I am a demon in the service of Filth Mountain! Who dares kill me—"

Before it could finish, a streak of Golden Light pierced the space between its brows.

Li Fuchan sheathed his sword.

Only then did the two Monsters' bodies crash to the ground, demonic blood pouring out.

Without another word, he unleashed a Thunderbolt that blasted both corpses to pieces, then turned to leave.

The villagers stared blankly at the scene. Only after a while did someone come to their senses and drop to their knees with a thud, kowtowing repeatedly and crying, "Immortal! Immortal!"

Li Fuchan glanced back at them. He knew that once he left, their chances of survival would be one in ten. Plenty of Monsters coveted living flesh. Even if one or two were lucky enough to survive and make it home, they would only be sent out again.

Throughout his journey, whenever he encountered demons or evil spirits, he had cut them down one by one, provided they were neither at the Outer Scenery level nor backed by anyone.

He sought only to avoid losing any Dao Attainment while continuing his cultivation. Now, he had begun to faintly touch the threshold of Outer Scenery manifestation.

As for the rest, he did not want to get involved, nor could he.

Not long after Li Fuchan left.

The villagers were still trembling where they stood, unsure where to flee, when they saw someone approaching from the end of the path.

The man wore plain white clothes and a bamboo hat. He was wrapped up tightly, with only a pair of round eyes showing.

He approached and bent down to inspect the crisscrossing lightning scars on the ground, then reached into the charred ashes and gently rubbed a pinch between his fingers. He could not help murmuring, "It seems a fellow cultivator of Thunder Arts has come to the Southern Border. That's a good thing. He can clear out some of these wandering demons and Evil Spirit creatures."

He turned toward the frightened villagers. Though his attire was strange, there was a measure of warmth in his words. They all knelt and kowtowed, crying over and over, "Immortal, save us!"

Without saying much, he took dry rations and clean water from his Storage Bag and distributed them to everyone. Then he personally escorted them back to their village and settled them in an abandoned temple at its entrance, instructing them to hide there for the time being and not venture into the mountains again.

Once he had finished, he returned to the clearing alone.

The mountain forest had fallen silent again. Only the scorched earth split open by lightning fire still held a trace of lingering warmth.

He was about to leave when his gaze suddenly sharpened. There, amid the blackened ashes, a white flower had somehow sprouted from the soil.

A few streaks of black char marked the edges of its petals. It drooped weakly, looking as though it might wither and die at any moment, yet a delicate fragrance drifted from it.

The man stared for a moment, then suddenly smiled. Crouching down, he said softly, "Even beneath thunderbolts, life remains. It seems this is 'lightning-struck wood.' Little flower spirit, you actually survived such a hopeless place."

He released his magical power and lifted the gardenia, holding it in his palm as he studied it for a moment. His gaze softened. "You refused death and chose life; I refused the north and chose the south. That makes us fated, in a way. Let's travel together."

With that, he cradled the white flower in his palm, adjusted his bamboo hat, and turned to continue south.

The mountain wind whispered, gradually swallowing that plain white figure into the dense forest mist.